Pray
by Beautiful-Crying-Angel
Summary: . "I do pray, everyday. I have for a long time." Dean was, to say the least, shocked. But Sam couldn't begin to explain, especially when he knew his brother would never understand. Episode 2x13 "Houses of the Holy." Chapter 4 up.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Pray  
**  
Summary: **In the episode 2x13 "Houses of the Holy," Sam shocks Dean by revealing he prays everyday. This got me thinking. When did Sam start praying? And why? This is my answer to that question. I'm not good at summaries, but please read. I promise it won't be horrible =P

**Warning:** Rated teen due to slight language, and violence.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything pertaining to Supernatural.

**Side note:** This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter SPN fic. And this story will have a Christian perspective

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**Chapter One**

Providence, Rhode Island, 2007

This case was a difficult one to swallow. Three victims with evil secrets, and three killers completely at peace, who swore an angel of God had spoken to them. Sam believed them, believed in angels. Dean, on the other hand, wouldn't hear of it. He was convinced the true being behind these murders was, in fact, a vengeful spirit. The spirit of Father Gregory to be precise. A holy man gunned down in front of the House of God, with the knowledge of the victims' confessions. Why couldn't Sam see that?

"It's all starting to make sense," Dean declared, lifting the picture of the Father from its memorial. "A devoted priest dies a violent death, that's vengeful spirit material right there. And he knew all the other stiffs because they all went to church here. And I'm willing to bet that because he was their priest, he knew things about them no one else knew."

"Then again, Father Reynolds started praying for God's help about two months ago, right?" Dean's face was blank. "Right about the time all of this started happening?"

"C'mon man, what's your deal?"

"What do you mean?"

"Look, I'll admit I'm a bit of a skeptic. Since when are you all Mr. 700 club?" Sam shrugged. "No seriously. From the get-go you've been willing to buy this angel crap, man. What's next, you're going to start praying everyday?"

"I do."

"What?"

"I do pray everyday. I have for a long time…" Silence. Dean stared at him, shocked.

"The things you learn about a guy." Sam shrugged again, looking sadly at his brother. He couldn't tell him. Dean had been there, but Sam knew he'd never understand. Never.

_**PrayPrayPray**_

Another town, another hunt. 1999.

The trio sneaked quietly across the yard, their bodies dark silhouettes against the bright afternoon sky. Before them lay an old country house, perfect for hiding out during the day and sleeping. Stealing one final, longing glance at the sun, sixteen year old Sam Winchester followed his father and brother in.

The back door led into what was once a bright and sunny kitchen. Quietly they crept from the kitchen to the front hall, pausing in front of the staircase. With theatrical hand gestures John defined their game plan. He had already staked out the house last night, studied the layout. It would make things much easier.

It was decided John would take the front rooms, Dean the farther left back rooms, and Sam the back rooms farther right. They were to take care of business, then get the hell out of there. The boys nodded in agreement, no sense staying around longer than needed.

Dean was excited as they mounded the steps, his heart beating rapidly with the thrill of the kill. Sam, however, did not share his brother's enthusiasm, wishing instead he could be outside. Or maybe reading a book. Anywhere but here, just as long as he was away from monsters and hunting.

Sam paused in front of the first door, the weight of the machete in his hand felt all too familiar. The thought made him shudder. A warrior, that's what he was, how he and Dean had been raised. It may have been who he was, but that sure as hell didn't mean he had to like it.

Taking a deep breath he opened the door, and without a second thought, beheaded the sleeping vampires. As far as John was concerned anything evil needed to die. No two ways about it. It was as simple as black and white. If it was evil it should be killed, if it wasn't well then you left it be. To be sure, if there was one thing John did not believe in, it was the existence of anything good. No, he hadn't believed in decency and goodness since Mary died.

And vampires, well they were evil incarnated. Bloodthirsty monsters clothed in flawless human flesh. Wolves in sheep's clothing. Beasts living by animal instincts alone.

Sam stood before the final bed, ready and armed. He'd already killed five others, rapidly and blindly, afraid of what he might see. Don't look and it won't hurt, he told himself. Don't look and it won't hurt.

Raising the large knife high above his head, Sam made the mistake of looking at the sleeping form. His heart skipped a beat. He hesitated. Getting as close as he dared, he inspected the figure with curious eyes. Taking it in. Taking _her _in.

The vampire appeared no older than himself, although for all he knew, she could have been hundreds of years old. Her blond hair lay around her in cascades of gold, framing her face like a halo. Her face was extremely lovely, like an angel craved gracefully, tenderly from stone. This girl, this supposedly terrible sin, looked no more dangerous than a flower. In fact, to Sam's astonishment, she was beautiful. Flawlessly radiant in all her elegance. And he found himself wondering what color her eyes were.

This sudden revelation, this unexpected vision, overwhelmed him. Unnerving him to the very core. With a soft,_ clang,_ Sam's machete fell to the floor. He took a step backward, shaking his head vigorously as if to clear it.

She look so...so, well…human. He couldn't handle it, couldn't take it. There was no way he'd be able to bring himself to destroy her. This beautiful _person_. Burying his head in his hands, Sam couldn't help but wonder. He questioned this job, this lifestyle, his father's ideas. What were they doing? Looking evil in the face. What kind of person did that? No sane one, that's for sure.

Where, he wondered, did the distinction between right and wrong exist? After all, if one was to truly think about it, these people hadn't chosen to become vampires. They wouldn't have wanted this for themselves. But they had been turned, and therefore abandoned to the mercy of their newfound desires, their raging hunger, and blood lust _forever_.

Had Sam been paying attention, he would have noticed how the vampire's eyes flickered, and slowing opened, at the sound of his weapon dropping. He would have seen the way her face transformed when she heard his beating heart, and smelled the blood pumping through his veins. Had he noticed the savagery burning in her eyes, or the deadly, bloodstained fangs which emerged from her once celestial face, he would have broken from his trance-like state. He would have thrown himself into battle mode, and slain the bitch.

Only, he didn't notice, until it was too late. With an ear-splitting screech, she lunged herself at the youngest Winchester, her fangs gleaming murderous. Her mouth craving his blood.

_To Be Continued..._

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**_Okay, so I realize it was kind of short. But I hoped you enjoyed, and will continue reading xD Reviews would be greatly appreciated.  
BCA_**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Hey guys, sorry it took so long. Did anyone else's computer say they couldn't log in due to a technical glitch? Thank goodness for the library, =)**_

_**Anyways, this is not my best work, and**_

_**WARNING: this chapter contains extremely obvious Christian perspective. You'll see.**_

_**Hope you like. Please review.**_

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**Chapter Two**

Sam prepared himself for the pain, for certain death. When, seemingly out of thin air, Dean materialized in the room. Powerfully, and perilously, he grabbed the vampire around the waist, pulling her away from Sam. Swiftly, Dean brought down his machete, the adrenaline rush intoxicating him, giving him fierce strength.

Sam watched her body crumble into a lifeless heap, her head rolling across the floor. He trembled involuntarily, his breath coming in unbearable gasps, he felt lightheaded.

Before he could do anything, Dean was beside him, lifting the hyperventilating teenager into powerful, muscular arms. With extraordinary speed, Dean rushed him outside.

Gently, he set Sam on the ground, keeping a protective hand on his back. Greedily, Sam swallowed lungful after lungful of clean air, free of the stench of death. He relaxed under the touch of his older brother.

"It's okay, Sammy. I'm here. I'm here…"

Finally, Sam was able to calm down, and Dean proceeded to check him over intently. Satisfied everything was fine, and Sam did, in fact, not have a single scratch on him, he sat back and released a heavy sigh.

"Dad and I cleaned out the rest of the place. Filthy bloodsuckers. Sammy…man, what happened in there?"

Sam stared blankly at his brother, taking in his firm body and concerned eyes. There he was, bathed in sunlight and blood, a hero straight from mythology. His handsome face marred only by worry lines too early spawned.

"I don't really know wha-"

"What the hell happened?" John Winchester's angry voice rang out, pushing both boys to their feet.

"I-I-I…"Sam stuttered, his mouth betraying him.

"Dammit, Sam! You hesitated, almost got yourself killed! What if Dean wouldn't have been there?" Sam looked down ashamed, his father was right. He had put himself in a position of grave danger, and to his distress, endangered Dean's life for that matter.

But Dean _had_ been there. He was _always_ there, just a step away, looking out for him. He always took care of him. Always. There were countless times Dean had laid his life on the line for Sam, arriving just in time, banishing the monsters, wiping away his tears.

"What the hell possessed you to do such a thing?" Sam knew his father was only upset because they could have been hurt, but even still, the accusing tone in his voice stung.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. Won't happen again." He offered no explanation. John would _never_ understand. The obsessed bastard.

While Sam loaded up their rental car, seeing as the Impala was in a garage, John and Dean dowsed the vampires' nest in gasoline, and with the flare of a match, cremated it in flames. They'd call the fire department as soon as they were far enough away, and there was no way of salvaging the house, or the charred remains.

The ride back to the motel was awkward, to say the least. It began with an enraged John yelling at Sam for hesitating, and almost getting himself killed (as if he hadn't stressed the point enough). The tirade ended with a very somber, "I would die if anything happened to you boys." And the remainder of the trip was finished in tomb-like silence. Each Winchester absorbed in his own thoughts.

As they turned into the motel, Sam was out of the car before it had stopped moving.

"I'm going for a walk," he called over his shoulder.

"Sam, wait!" That was Dean's voice, so filled with worry and affection he was tempted to turn around.

Instead, he took off at a light jog. "I'll be back later."

Dean must have started following him, because the last thing he heard was John saying, "Let him go. He needs to let off some steam."

_**PrayPrayPray**_

Sam walked continually for a good half hour. Destinationless and directionless. People and places mixed together until everything looked exactly the same, and he felt like he was floating in a dark abyss.

"Why the hell did I hesitate?" he asked himself a hundred times, the scene replaying in his mind, over and over again. Torturing him endlessly. He thought of Dean. "What if he hadn't of been there…" he shuddered at the idea. Only one thing could possibly be worse. And that was the fact that Dean Winchester would do anything for his little brother, even if it meant dying, he would do it in a heartbeat. If anything _ever_ tried to mess with Sam they were, without a doubt, royally screwed. Dean would be all over them like a mother grizzly protecting her cub. And, boy, were they dead meat.

Sam knew, without uncertainty, that _his _big brother would never let him down. He was his protector, his guardian angel. And this was the reason Sam believed nothing bad could ever happen to him.

A bell chimed from somewhere close, startling him. Blinking several times, attempting to bring himself back to reality, Sam noticed a church across the street. Maybe it was the silvery sound of the bell, or maybe it was the simple splendor of the House of God. Maybe it was the sudden sense of peace the washed over him, or quite possibly, it was something far greater. But whatever the reason, Sam felt his feet moving, stepping from the sidewalk, pulling him toward the church.

Pausing momentarily at the bottom of the stone steps, he gazed at the old wooden cross attached to the front of the building. Taking a deep breath, Sam made a decision and ascended. Man, he thought, I know Dean and Dad would freak if they saw me. To put it bluntly, John was faithless. And Dean…well, the only father he had faith in was his own.

The church's interior was the same as any other; wooden pews facing a matching pulpit on a stage, a large organ to the left, microphones for the choir to the right. What really caught Sam's attention was the large stain glassed window at the back, above the platform. It was absolutely breath-taking. It depicted the crucifixion with the words "For God so loved the world…"

Sitting in the front most pew, Sam stared, utterly paralyzed. Outside the sun shone brightly, bringing the image to life, magnifying the marvelous colors. They bathed him in their beauty, filling him with hope.

"For God so loved the world…" he repeated the words, their taste sweet on his tongue. He had heard the story before from Pastor Jim, a family friend, when he was only a child. Even now, the very idea that an almighty God knew _his_ name, knew all about him, and _loved him_ was hard to believe.

"You know, if you were the only person on Earth, the good Lord still would have sent Jesus to die for _you._ God's love is that great." Sam nearly jumped out of his skin. The owner of the voice was a smiling old lady, her white hair tied loosely in a bun, her blue eyes gentle, her face a mask of laugh lines. She smelled distinctly of peppermints and cookies.

He contemplated what she said, what was the woman, a mind reader? Finally he shook his head. "No way."

"May I?" she asked, gesturing to the space beside him.

"Sure." Sitting down carefully, she too focused on the window. The love in her eyes was so intense Sam watched her, intrigued.

"God's love is absolutely mind-blowing. To think He would come down in flesh, and with the weight of the world's sins on His shoulders, die at Calvary is amazing. To know that your name is on His lips, that you are in His heart, on His mind. When Jesus gave His last breath on that cross, he thought of _you_."

All Sam could manage was to nod, engrossed completely in the stained glass, in her words, and the soothing sounds of her melodic voice. It reminded him of the gentle rushing of water, or the pure notes of a harp.

"That is why people have a hard time believing," she continued. "His love is too awesome, too surreal. 'No one can love like that,' they declare. But, they are wrong. Of course, nothing we could ever do would earn us this salvation. But we can have it, as undeserving as we are. It is not because of who we are that we are loved, it is because of who _He_ is."

"God so loved the world…"Sam repeated softly in reply, earning a warm smile.

Patting his leg gently, she stood. "You know, my dear, sometimes we may hear or see things that cause us to question. And there are times when we are screaming inside, but no one's listening. God knows, my child, and He wants you to run into His loving arms. They hold mercy and healing." Catching Sam's eye, she held his gaze, her face serious. "In all things pray. God hears you, and He will answer. He will wipe away your tears."

The teenager stared at the window again, dazed. Her words tumbled around in his head, searching for meaning, for truth. His heart felt light and confident.

"My name is Sam Winchester," he called after the fleeting figure.

She paused, her face painted with the glass colors. She appeared peaceful, elegant, magnificent. Her beauty outshining that of the deceptive vampire's. It surged inside her, and spilled forth, bathing her in radiance, blessing all in her presence. "Grace," was all she offered.

Sam returned his attention to the window. Something had changed…Before he could have swore Jesus was looking at the crowd, but now, the Savior's glorious love-filled eyes seemed to be looking straight at him! His lips offering a sad smile. Sam's breath caught in his throat, and he rubbed desperately at his own eyes.

Jesus once again faced the crowd. Sam swallowed, difficultly. He sighed, "I'm just exhausted, and worked up...that explains it."

Now, he decided, would be a good time to leave. Outside, back in the real, oblivious world, the sun warmed him quickly. He stretched his arms high above his head, and resumed his walk. That was, undeniably, probably one of the weirdest experiences he had ever had. And that was saying _a lot_ considering his line of work.

_Look for more soon..._

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**_Does this chapter perhaps hold some foreshadowing? Hint, hint. Hehe._**

**_While I was writing the first part I practically had to mop up my drool thinking about Dean's strong, muscular arms! I wish he'd lift me up next to his body. -fan girl squeal; dies- Gotta love them Winchester boys._**

**_Much love,_**

**_BCA  
_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_Sorry it's taken so long, and I apologize for the length. The next chapter will be longer, I promise._**

**_Warning: Slight language. It is Dean after all, lolz.  
_**

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**Chapter Three**

"Sammy!" a voice called. Dean pulled their rental car up to the curb, calling anxiously to his brother. "Sam, I've been looking everywhere for you, man."

Sam paused. He didn't think he could stand to see his father right now, to return to another cheap motel room. He contemplated running but one glance at his brother, sitting stiffly behind the wheel, he climbed into the passenger's seat. Sam inspected his brother sadly – concerned eyes set in a tired face, frown lines creasing a down-turned mouth. Poor Dean, he thought, he grew up too soon, too fast.

"Where were you?" Dean demanded, in his "hunter's" voice. Sam stared out the window. To lie, or not to lie? that was the million dollar question.

"I've been walking, around town." There, that was mostly true.

"Geez, Sam! You scared the hell outta me, taking off like that. Especially when you weren't thinking straight. Damn it! What would I have done if…" Dean couldn't finish the thought. He couldn't think like that. As long as he was breathing nothing would ever happen to his little brother.

"Dean, I'm okay. Everything's fine."

Silence.

"Dean…"

"You're my kid brother. I worry…"

"I know. I know."

More silence, deafening in all its roaring quiet. Seconds dragged noiselessly into minutes.

"So, are we going to talk about it?"

"What?" Sam asked, feigning innocence.

"Don't 'what' me. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. What the hell happened back there, at the house?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit."

"Do we really need to talk about it? It was a one time thing. I made a mistake. It'll never happen again."

"Damn right it won't!" Dean's voice softened, "Listen, Sammy, I need to know. I had to carry you out of that building, gasping for air. I won't lie, it scared me, man. I saw that blood sucking bitch coming at you, and I snapped. Never enjoyed killing a vampire so much in my life… I guess you could say I went Incredible Hulk on her ass."

Sam smiled slightly. "I'd say it was more of a Doctor Jekyll, Mr. Hyde moment."

Dean ruffled his brown hair playfully. The kid needed a haircut. "You can be such a bitch."

"Jerk."

"…We are going to have to talk about it sometime."

"Dude, don't ruin the moment." Dean's joyful laughter filled the car, and Sam tried his hardest to record the sound, storing it deep within him. Dean laughing was a rare occurrence at best, and he wanted to always remember it. He wanted to see his brother as he was now, a million watt smile painted on his handsome face, an inextinguishable sparkle in his eyes. A happy Dean Winchester.

Better take a picture, Sam, it'll last longer. Don't you know? Things can change in a second.

One minute the brothers were laughing, lighthearted, cheerful, and –dare I say it? - normal. And the next all was quiet, all was broken.

Sam was enjoying the moment, appreciating being here, now, with his brother, this joke they shared.

For him time seemed to slow down, as their traffic light turned green, and a driver speeding inside town limits, ran a red light. Sam saw it all in crystal clarity as the Chevy truck barreled into the driver's side, crushing Dean in a blur of metal and glass. He watched, horrified, as the airbag failed to deploy, and Dean's head smashed against the steering wheel.

"Dean…"Sam whispered through the coppery taste in his mouth. Silence. Fear. The darkness swallowed him.

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**_Scream, oh no! Hehe. Cliffhanger!  
I hope you enjoyed, and will continue reading.  
If you read, please review._**

**_Love,  
BCA_**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Sorry it took so long. Hope you like. Warning: language.**_

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**Chapter Four**

The world was bright, agonizingly bright. Sam opened his eyes, slowly, adjusting to the light, taking in his surroundings.

He was lying in a bed, in what appeared to be a hospital room. The smell of disinfectant made him nauseous. John sat nervously in a bedside chair, twiddling his thumbs, staring gloomily at the floor.

Sam attempted to sit up, pain rushing over him, wave after wave. Oh, his body hurt. No, worse, it _burned._ He released an anguished hiss, falling back on the pillows.

"Sam?" The man looked up, relief flooding his eyes.

"Dad, where's Dean?" his voice was hoarse and raw, his throat dry and cracked. He could still taste blood.

"We should call the nurse." John reached over to press the call button, but Sam grabbed his arm. The grip was weak, but contained enough strength to make the oldest Winchester pause, and glance lovingly at his little boy.

"Dad. Where. Is. Dean?" Silence.

"I won't lie to you," John began, sighing heavily – an exhausted man, carrying the world on his shoulders. "…It doesn't look good."

_**PrayPrayPray**_

A plump nurse checked Sam over, and positive he would be okay, paged Doctor Phillip Kennedy. Kennedy was a kind, middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair, and thoughtful eyes.

"Hello, Sam. How are you feeling?"

"Just wonderful," he said sarcastically. "Where's Dean?" The two men exchanged glances. The doctor ignored his question, flipping instead through some papers and charts fastened to a clipboard.

"Tell me, do you remember what happened?"

Sam shut his eyes, tight, trying his best to conjure up the images. The last minutes he remembered. "I had been walking, and Dean picked me up in the rental car. We were laughing. The light turned green. A truck slammed into us, into Dean. The airbag didn't deploy. Dean's head hit…" A fearful gasp betrayed him, as he saw, in perfect clarity, as his brother's head bounced off the steering wheel. "Dean! Oh my God, it's all my fault!"

"No, Sam. This is _not_ your fault."

"He was out looking for me! If I had just stayed at the motel. Or if I wouldn't have hesitated a single second before getting into the car, none of this would have happened! Oh, God!"

"Sam." Kennedy's voice was stern and calm, but a distinct grim tone flowed under his words. "Your head hit the window pretty hard. We were scared you'd sustained a concussion. Some shattered glass opened up a nasty wound on your head. You needed some stitches." Sam ran his fingers across his brow gingerly, inspecting the grotesque injury. He hadn't even noticed it earlier. "Besides some minor cuts and bruises, and a cracked rib, you're just fine."

"And Dean? Where's Dean?" Sam asked. He didn't care about himself.

No response.

"Where's my brother?" he asked again, frustrated. Why the hell wouldn't they answer the damn question?

"Your brother is in ICU. He's comatose. His chances of survival are ten percent, at best. Sam, Dean won't be waking up."

_**PrayPrayPray**_

_Two days. _Two freakin' days they made Sam wait to see Dean. He had thought he was going to kill someday, waiting restlessly, worriedly.

Kennedy walked him down. The ward was eerily quiet, the sound of his footfalls echoing like thunder. The fluorescent lights only seeming to make the darkness more apparent. The sun forbidden to shine. And the smell, musty and clean, it bothered Sam's nose. Death lives here, he thought.

They stopped in front of a door labeled 509. Kennedy opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by an urgent voice over the PA system declaring, "Attention! Code Blue! Room 503, Code Blue!" Sam stared at the doctor, frightened, watching the commotion that erupted down the hall.

"What's code blue?"

"Cardiac arrest!" The doctor replied hurriedly, racing toward the room. Sam watched wide-eyed as doctors and nurses swarmed toward the door. A woman stumbled out, her eyes red and puffy. She slumped against a wall, screaming her husband's name over and over again.

Sam looked away, and entered his own living nightmare. The doctor had warned him of Dean's condition, that he had been "quite banged up," but a strangled cry still managed to escape his lips. There were several machines, their humming constant and sharp. They were keeping Dean alive, helping him breathe. An IV ran from his hand, and a feeding tube down his throat. Several cuts and bruises marred Dean's handsome face, his lip had been split open, and an angry gash, like the trail of a paint brush, traced his cheek. And that was just what Sam could see! He didn't want to know anything else.

John sat stiffly in a chair against the far wall. "What's happening?"

"Code Blue," he mumbled, taking the bedside chair, pulling it as close as possible. He grabbed Dean's hand, willing his strength to flood through him, and into his dear brother. Dean was somewhere in this still shell, trapped and lost. He just needed to be found. "How is he?"

"He's stable."

"That's good. I guess." But not good enough.

"Sam, we need to discuss arrangements."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Sam, we need to con-"

"Dad! Dean is going to be okay."

"I know you want to-"

"Damn it! He _**is**_ going to live."

John dropped his arms, defeated. He didn't want to argue with his son. Especially considering he may be the only son he had left. "I need some coffee. You want anything?"

"No."

"Okay, if you're sure."

"I am."

"I'll be right back then." Sam didn't look up as his father stood, kissed Dean's forehead, and left, closing the door behind him. Sam wanted to walk over and slam it, repeatedly. John was wrong, he didn't know anything! Dean was _**not**_ going to die! He wouldn't let him. He needed Dean.

Barely a moment had passed before the door reopened.

"Dad, I said I don't want anything."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Am I interrupting?" A pretty young nurse stood shyly in the doorway, an embarrassed blush painting her cheeks, her eyes questioning. "I can come back later, if you'd like."

"No, it's fine. Come in." Sam watched as she checked the equipment and Dean's vital signs, her movements graceful and soft. He saw the way her eyes rested on Dean's face, her hand on his. What did that mean? Could she really care about what happened to him? A perfect stranger.

"He's not very old is he?" she whispered.

"Twenty."

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice pained, drawing back her hand.

"Hey, what's that?" Sam asked, indicating the red cloth bracelet encircling her wrist. "P.U.S.H.?"

"Oh, this old thing? It's similar to one of those WWJD bracelets. It means, 'Pray Until Something Happens.'"

"Pray?" he echoed, remembering Grace's words like a distant memory. Had that only been a few days ago?

"Yes. Pray… I will return later." She searched Sam's face. Holding his gaze, she said, "I'll pray for you. And for your brother. Do not lose hope. Miracles happen"

"Miss?" he asked, as she turned to leave.

"Yes?"

"Thank-you."

"It's not me you should thank."

_**TBC**_


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